Promises Prevail

by Sarah McCarty

  “It’s okay, Mara,” Jenna said, getting her good leg under her and standing slowly. She was Clint McKinnely’s wife. Mark wouldn’t dare touch her. “I’ll be fine.”

  “You’re darned right you will because you’re going home to your husband.” Mara reached for her hand. Mark grabbed Jenna’s upper arm and with a bruising yank, lifted her up and back, out of Mara’s reach.

  “If Clint wants to see his wife, he can look for her over in the jail.” He jerked his chin in the direction of the small, windowless structure set back in the alley beside the livery. “She’ll be staying there waiting for a trial.”

  “Trial?” Jenna stared at the dark, square building. They were going to try her?

  “For what?” Mara demanded.

  “Mrs. Salisbury is charging her with attempted murder.”

  “I just pushed her in a horse trough.”

  “And in this weather, she could have died.”

  “But she didn’t, and there’s no way in heck those charges will stick,” Mara growled, her hands on her slender hips, looking dainty and fragile and feminine, throwing the kind of challenges Mark lived to squash.

  “That’s for the judge to determine.” Mark took a step back, Jenna stumbled after him, clutching Bri tightly, her weight on the wrong leg throwing her off balance.

  “Like hell,” Mara shot back.

  Against her back, Jenna felt Mark’s fury at being questioned by a woman coalesce into interest as he asked, “You looking to end up in jail yourself for blocking justice, little lady?”

  “You’re calling this justice?” Jenna felt Mark’s breath catch as Mara ended the challenge with a sneer. Oh God, Mara had no idea what she was inviting.

  “Mara,” Jenna said, forcing the words past her tight lips, “you need to take Brianna home for me.” Mara hesitated and for one split second, Jenna thought she’d cooperate, but then her chin came up and her shoulders squared.

  “If he wants to arrest you, then he has to arrest me too.”

  “No!”

  “I was just as much a part of it as you,” she insisted, daring Mark to do it.

  “Be more than happy to.” Quick as a snake, Mark grabbed Mara’s arm. He pulled Mara’s face up close to his, lifting her up on tiptoes with ease. “Taming you could be fun.”

  Mara blanched, but being Mara, she didn’t back down. Instead she spat in his face. Mark didn’t even flinch, but he laughed that low satisfied laugh that haunted Jenna’s nightmares. Through the roaring in her ears she heard the approach of multiple footsteps, a murmur of voices, and then one voice rose above the others, clearly triumphant.

  “Oh good, you’ve got them.”

  “And they’re not going anywhere either,” Mark promised, turning them so that they faced Shirley. She was wrapped in a wool blanket, her lips still blue, the occasional shudder still running through her. She didn’t look anywhere near dead. “At least not until the judge makes a determination.”

  “I’ll take the baby,” Shirley said.

  “No.” Jenna twisted away, ignoring the wrench Mark gave her arm. There was no way she would let this woman who’d called her precious Bri filthy, take her. Shirley stepped in, her intent clear.

  “Keep your filthy hands off Brianna.” Mara struck out with her foot, catching the other woman in the stomach.

  “That’s assault, Mrs. McKinnely,” Mark offered.

  “If she tries to touch Bri again it’s going to be murder,” Mara promised while Jenna searched the crowd for a sympathetic face. She didn’t find one, only bored cowhands looking for a show, and townfolk who didn’t know what to make of the situation.

  “A word of advice, Deputy. I wouldn’t mess with the McKinnely women,” a cowhand, who looked to be straight off the range offered.

  “The McKinnnelys are no more above the law than anyone else,” Mark snapped.

  “Mister, in case it escaped your notice, the McKinnelys are the law in these parts.” There was a murmur of agreement from the crowd. Mark’s only reaction was to tighten his grip on Jenna’s arm and bark out another order.

  “One of you men come get this baby.”

  “If you want to piss off the McKinnelys that’s your problem, but I don’t want any part of it.” The cowhand stepped back, hands raised.

  As if pushed by an unseen hand the crowd took a step back, shaking their heads and murmuring uncomfortably until there was only Shirley, Mark, and a wrangler Jenna didn’t recognize standing in the middle of the street with them. The man came forward, his eyes never leaving Brianna. His hands were cut and dirty, his eyes were haunted, yet kind as he took Bri from Jenna’s arms.

  “No,” she whispered. His gaze flickered to hers. She didn’t see any meaness in his eyes, only a soul-deep sadness that had no end.

  “I’ll be careful with her, ma’am.”

  “Give her to me,” Shirley demanded immediately.

  “Take her to my husband, Clint McKinnely.” Jenna begged, holding the man’s gaze. She thought she saw a flare of recognition in his eyes at her husband’s name. “Don’t give her to anyone else. Please, just him.”

  “I’ll keep her safe ma’am. Don’t you worry.” The man tucked Brianna into his arm with that same reluctant sadness with which he’d reached for her.

  “Let’s go you two,” Mark ordered, turning them toward the jail. “We’ve provided enough entertainment for the evening.”

  “Remember,” Jenna yelled, straining to make eye contact with the stranger who had her baby, “don’t give her to anyone but Clint.” Jenna twisted to see what was happening with Bri. Shirley intercepted her glance and the cruelty in the other woman’s gaze terrified her.

  Shirley gave her a nod and smiled, stepping toward the stranger as Mark dragged her along, away from her baby. He shoved her into the alley and she could no longer see anything, but she could hear Shirley’s satisfied “I’ll take her now” and it struck terror into her soul. Her baby was alone and unprotected with a woman who saw her as an obstacle to what she wanted.

  Oh God, this was her worst nightmare come to life.

  * * * * *

  “Just like old times, isn’t it pretty girl?”

  Jenna struggled to block out the reality of being locked in a jail, her arms tied together and then tied with a separate rope to the bars. Tied with enough give that she could turn but not escape. Mark’s bloated body pressed into her back as he whispered her nightmare into reality.

  “Remember the fun we had? Remember how you learned to obey under my hand?”

  She remembered the pain. The futility of resistance. The agony of being helpless before his torture. “Go to hell.”

  “Let her go you bastard!” Mara hollered from inside the gloomy jail’s only cell.

  “It’s all right, Mara.” Jenna forced her eyes open, forced herself to connect with the here and now long enough to warn Mara. She had to stay quiet, to stop challenging Mark before she drew his attention.

  “You keep telling me that like you expect me to believe it.” Mara jerked at her bound hands.

  “But it is all right, isn’t it, Jenna?” he asked loud enough to carry. Mark rubbed his crotch along Jenna’s buttocks, rapping her skirt with the quirt he held in his hand, a reminder of what to expect. He nuzzled her hair aside and kissed her ear in a gross parody of tenderness. “We’ve played this game before. Remember that night, Jenna? Remember how your husband gave you to me? How you spread your legs to pay his debts. How you danced for my lash.”

  Mara’s eyes widened with shock and for a heartbeat, she stopped struggling. Jenna met her gaze, saw the understanding sink in, and felt the shame to the bottom of her soul.

  “I told you there were reasons,” she whispered.

  The quirt came down hard on her hip. Hard enough to bite through the layers of cloth. Hard enough to bring a strangled scream from her throat as Mark laughed and pushed his erection against her. She’d forgotten how much it hurt, how much he enjoyed hurting.

  “I didn’t tell
you to speak,” he grunted, lashing her again.

  Tears leaked from her eyes as she shuddered under the blow, the stays of her corset absorbing most of the force.

  “McKinnely must be soft. You’ve forgotten all the rules I taught you.”

  Oh God, Clint. This was going to kill him. Kill them.

  “He’s going to kill you for this, you know,” Mara said, echoing Jenna’s thoughts, her voice unnaturally calm. “He’ll hunt you down, stake you out, and skin you alive. And while you’re screaming for relief, he’ll cut off your balls, shove them down your throat, and leave you for the buzzards to eat.”

  Mark laughed as if she didn’t have a care in the world.

  “Clint’s never going to know about this, though is he?” He ran the quirt over Jenna’s cheek. She had to either accept the caress or lean into Mark’s face. She held perfectly still. “Jenna won’t want her precious husband to know she’s just a filthy little whore who likes it rough.”

  “I’ll tell him.”

  “No you won’t, because you care too much about my little slut here to risk her marriage.” Mark tilted his head back. From the corner of her eye, Jenna could see Mark’s smile. Its cold, sinister edge sent a shudder down her spine.

  “You don’t know me too well.” Mara tossed her head back.

  “I know you well enough to know that if you were willing to prove Jenna to the world as the slut she is, you would have screamed blue murder by now.”

  “You said you’d kill her if I did.”

  “So I did, but you should have risked it to save yourself.”

  “I don’t need to.” Again that unnaturally calm voice.

  “Why?”

  “Cougar is coming.” She said it as if it were a given.

  “McKinnely is miles from here.”

  “Somebody has gone for him, and when he gets here, he’ll tear you to pieces.” Mara shifted on the wood bench that served as bed and seat.

  “I’ll be gone long before he gets here.”

  “Running won’t save a pathetic worm like you.”

  Mark tensed in that way Jenna recognized. He was turning his focus on Mara. She’d never survive five minutes of his attention.

  “Mara,” she croaked, “shut up.”

  Mark stepped away from Jenna. The coolness of the air on her sweaty back was not a comfort. Not when it meant Mara was becoming a target. Mark stepped to the left. The quirt slapped against his boot.

  “Awful brave talk for a woman who’ll be greeting her husband with my seed dripping from her cunt.”

  “Is that the best you’ve got? Rape?” Unbelievably, Mara smiled. She tossed her head again in that way that had Mark’s nostrils flaring. “Cougar will want me no matter what. Long after your corpse has rotted, he’ll still be loving me.”

  Mara was serious. She had every faith that her husband was coming for her and that he’d want her no matter what. Jenna could only envy her that confidence.

  “That only holds if there’s anything left of you to love,” Mark returned just as calmly.

  “I’ll hold on until he gets here.” The promise drifted on the stale air, unfazed by Mark’s threats.

  In a blur of motion, Mark brought the quirt down in a vicious slice that caught Jenna across the shoulders. She fell to her knees and a scream tore from her throat as waves of agony clawed at her back. The ropes on her wrist halted her descent, jerking her forward against the bars, smashing her cheek into the metal as lights exploded behind her eyes. With the tip of the quirt, Mark traced the first tear as it escaped Jenna’s control.

  “What makes you think I’ll let you?” he asked Mara conversationally.

  Jenna opened her eyes. There were tears in Mara’s eyes, but her expression didn’t change.

  “Because I promised Cougar I would.” She moved back in the seat, and her smile rivaled Cougar’s for feral coldness. “And because I want to watch Clint tear you apart, inch by inch.”

  “I’m going to enjoy our time together, Mara McKinnely,” Mark said as he hauled Jenna to her feet. He grabbed her by the bun at the base of her neck and twisted her face to his, “And you’ll get to watch. Every beautiful second.”

  Like hell. Mark let her go. Jenna waited until he took one step away, grabbed the bars for support, and then with every ounce of muscle she could muster, kicked him between the legs, driving the hard pointed toe of her brand-new boots into the softness of his groin. Grinding it deeper as he dropped, kicking out again as he retched and doubled over. She got two more kicks in before his hand struck with the speed of a rattler, grabbing her ankle, yanking her off balance.

  “Jenna!” Mara cried, the bench rocking as she lurched forward. Jenna shook her head at her as she fell, knowing the landing was going to be hard, mentally trying to prepare herself, but nothing could have prepared her for the wrenching agony of her bound wrists taking the sudden force of her drop.

  Mark didn’t relax his grip even though she was down, partially suspended on the bars. Instead he climbed her body, and held on as she moaned, not relaxing his grip as her bound wrists took her full weight and part of his, dragging his way up her body one inch at a time.

  “So you went and got some spirit since I last saw you,” he grunted as he pulled even with her face, his foul breath striking her like another blow. “I like it.”

  “It’s going to make our next little game lots of fun.” He pinned her legs with his and braced his arms on the bars beside her head.

  If she’d had the spit to do it, she would have spit in his face, but her mouth was bone-dry with the fear shaking her from head to toe. Mark had been horrible before, but this close, she couldn’t miss the insanity in his light grey eyes. She could only offer up a prayer of thanksgiving that he’d forgotten about Mara.

  With a grunt he lurched to his feet, grabbed her by the front of her dress and dragged her up. Buttons popped and seams tore as he wrestled her around until she was once again bent over at the waist, facing the bars, her buttocks sticking out.

  His hands on her skirts were efficient as he gathered them up, dropping the heavy weight to the middle of her back as he leaned over and whispered in her ear, “If you scream once, I’ll snap the little bitch’s neck.”

  He looked at Mara as he placed the quirt against Jenna’s neck. The leather was as cold and as flat as his voice as he said, “If you make a sound, I’ll strangle her.”

  Mara met Jenna’s gaze, bit her lip, and nodded.

  “Glad we understand each other.”

  The quirt left her throat. She felt Mark’s hands on her hips. The soft rip of cotton being torn rent the silence and her pantalets fell to the floor. And then there was only her panting breath and the slight grind of her teeth before the quirt whistled though the air. The force of the blow sent her forward into the bars. Her mind registered the sharpness of the snap before her thigh exploded in agony. She caught the scream in her throat, fighting it back, biting her cheek until blood flowed to keep the agony contained.

  The pain swelled and built, expanding through her body. Before it could ebb, Mark leaned over her, his breath hot in her ear, “Oh, that was very good. Got me hard. Let’s see if we can up the ante. You last until I come and I’ll let the little bitch go.” He kissed her cheek. “Understand?”

  Jenna gritted her teeth so hard she thought they’d crack. She didn’t know if Mark could still come after the way she’d kicked him. Didn’t know if he’d really let Mara go if he could. He was insane. Anything was possible, but it was worth a try. And their best bet was still to buy time, so she nodded.

  He stroked her tear-wet cheek with the quirt. The leather was hot and wet against her flesh. Had he cut her?

  “Good girl,” he murmured again as if they were lovers on a tryst. She felt the muscles in his chest stretch as he raised the quirt. She sucked in a breath as she felt them tense and his weight come down.

  The blow she braced for never came. Instead, Mark jerked, threw his head back, and swore. She looked up. Mara wa
s on the other side of the bars, looking like a virago, one hand clenched in Mark’s hair as she stabbed at his back with the knife, her lips drawn back from her teeth in a feral snarl, equally feral growls coming from between her lips.

  Sparks flew as the blade hit the bars. Above Jenna, Mark twisted. She tried to throw him off by heaving up but her legs gave out. She went down, taking him with her, but not soon enough. As she twisted she saw Mark’s ham-like fist connect with Mara’s jaw and the tiny woman went sailing across the dirt floor, landing in a puff of dust. She didn’t get up.

  The little bit of hope Jenna had been holding onto left her, along with it her grasp on reason. Arching her head back she screamed loud and long, crying for Clint, for their daughter, for what might have been if her life hadn’t been tainted by her father’s belief, her husband’s weakness, and Mark’s insanity. She screamed, clawed, and bit when Mark tried to haul her up. She kept screaming when the rush of cold air added to the agony in her buttocks. She screamed louder when Mark’s heavy weight suddenly left her back and a strange thumping and groaning began.

  She stopped screaming when the words that blended with the odd pounding reached her consciousness.

  “You worthless piece of shit!” She opened her eyes. Reverend Swanson had Mark up against the wall. He was holding him there with nothing more than the speed and force of the blows he was raining into his midsection, seemingly heedless of the blood and vomit Mark was coughing all over him.

  With a last punch that Jenna fully expected to see come out his spine, Brad let Mark drop. He turned. There was nothing civilized about his face. His lips were white with fury and his eyes burned with the fires of hell. If he was one of God’s angels, he was an archangel. One with a thirst for justice. He snatched the quirt off the floor.

  Mark held up his hand. Dirt and blood covered the surface. “Please,” he moaned as blood slid down his face. “No more.”

  With two vicious slashes, Brad laid opened the man’s cheeks.

  Mark screamed and sobbed, rolling into a ball on his side, his bloody hands covering his face. Jenna closed her eyes, unable to watch anymore. She heard the quirt whistle, that peculiar slapping sound it made as it landed, Mark’s pitiful moan.